by Heidi Rice
‘All right, I have got something to ask,’ she said softly, forcing the question out before she could stop herself. ‘Did you love Helen when you married her?’
CHAPTER TWELVE
‘DID I love her?’ Jace choked out a laugh, and wanted to kick himself for being so stupid.
Why had he opened himself up to this? He always kept things casual with women he slept with, and opening up the can of worms that was his marriage could get a little heavy. He should probably just lie. He’d done it before, because it had been the easy way out.
But somehow the earnestness in Cassie’s expression and the gently asked question made him hesitate. And then he really wanted to kick himself, because, however easy or convenient it was, he knew he couldn’t lie to her. Which was all wrapped up in watching her spend an hour devoting so much time and energy to getting presents for people he didn’t even know. He now knew just how sweet and genuine she really was—which meant it would probably be wise to let her know exactly the kind of man he was.
They had already agreed about the terms of their relationship, and that was great. But he’d seen the way she’d looked at him, knew that he was a first for her when it came to no-strings sex—and he didn’t want any confusion about what was really going on here.
‘No, I didn’t love her,’ he admitted flatly, careful not to put any inflection into his voice. The facts spoke for themselves. He watched the look of confusion cross her expressive face.
He could have added in his defence that as far as he was concerned there was no such thing as love. But once you said that, women had a bad habit of trying to persuade you otherwise. Or worse, find out why you thought that. Something he wasn’t about to get into. Because if the subject of his marriage was a can of worms he didn’t like prising open, the subject of his childhood was a whole barrel of them.
‘But if you didn’t love her, why did you marry her?’ she asked.
The delicious pastrami sandwich he had eaten sat in his stomach like a ball of lead.
He swallowed heavily and looked down at his plate. He probably should have expected the question, but it didn’t make it any easier to answer.
‘Her father provided the start-up investment for Artisan. He found out I’d been screwing Daddy’s little girl and gave me an ultimatum. Either I make an honest woman of her, or he was pulling the finance.’ He met her eyes as he said the words. He’d done what he had to do to get out. And okay, he’d made mistakes. Succumbing to Helen’s questionable charms being a whopper. But he’d paid the price for his stupidity and his lack of restraint. So why should he feel guilty about it now?
‘Basically, I married her for her father’s money. And not all that surprisingly, the marriage only lasted six months.’
Cassie didn’t look disgusted or even all that judgemental about what he’d told her, but annoyingly he still felt the need to justify his actions. Not something he’d ever done before. ‘Luckily, the company was a lot more successful. It was my ticket out and I took it. Whatever I did to get it was worth it.’
‘Your ticket out of what?’
‘Just out,’ he hedged. ‘It’s an expression,’ he added. He definitely wasn’t getting into that. ‘Anyway, Helen’s father died two months ago and left her his shares and his seat on the board of directors. Which is why I’m in London, selling the company.’
‘So you don’t have to deal with Helen?’ she said, making it sound like theirs had been a real marriage.
‘Nothing that dramatic. I can handle Helen fine,’ he said easily. ‘Unfortunately she has a problem handling me. Or rather leaving me alone. And anyway, it was time to let the company go. I was going to expand anyway. I’ve got more control if I start afresh, with a new board of directors. New designs. My own finance. And I can cut my ties to London for good.’
‘Did Helen know?’
‘Did Helen know what?’
‘That her father had forced you into the marriage?’
‘He didn’t exactly force me.’ He laughed, but heard the bitterness that he thought he’d got over years ago. ‘More like persuaded. There were no shotguns involved.’ He stretched back against the chair, glad to have steered the conversation away from anything too revealing. ‘But to answer your question, yeah, Helen knew,’ he said, thinking of the lies Helen had told her father, about how Jace had taken her virginity. ‘She was used to having Daddy get her what she wanted,’ he continued. No need to tell Cassie exactly how stupid he’d been—and railing against all the wrongs his ex-wife had done him had never been his style. His marriage hadn’t meant enough to him to make vilifying Helen all that worthwhile. ‘And for some unknown reason, she wanted my ring on her finger.’
‘She must have loved you,’ Cassie murmured.
He swigged the cool, clear water, astonished by how sincere she sounded. Did people really believe all that rubbish? But he could see by the forthright tilt of her chin, the conviction in her eyes, that she did.
Funny that her gullibility should seem enchanting though, rather than simply naive.
He jerked his shoulder. ‘Maybe.’ He didn’t care either way whether Helen had loved him or not.
What was a little disturbing, though, was realising that he did care what Cassie thought of him now she knew the truth.
‘Eat up,’ he said, nodding at Cassie’s sandwich, which she’d barely touched. He stood up. ‘I’ll go get us some coffee, then we can grab a cab.’
He wanted to get back to the hotel … where he knew lots of good ways to avoid any more dumb conversations about his past.
Cassie picked at her sandwich and watched Jace walk away.
He stopped at the diner’s retro counter, his shoulders stiff and unyielding as he spoke to the waitress. Taking her napkin out of her lap, Cassie folded it neatly over the remains of her meal as confusion made her stomach churn. What she’d learned about Jace and his marriage had killed her appetite completely.
He’d been surprisingly open, answering all her questions despite his statement on their first night that he didn’t like talking about it. And now she could see why. Despite his flat, emotionless tone, and the apparent ease with which he’d told her he’d married his wife for her father’s money, she couldn’t help thinking that what he’d revealed raised a lot more questions than it answered.
He clearly wanted her to believe that money had been his only motivation, but she knew it was a lot more complicated than that. For despite his obvious wealth, he didn’t seem like a man who was motivated by money. He didn’t even like to shop, for goodness’ sake. Which meant that it hadn’t been the money, it had been what the money represented—the opportunity to escape—that had really been driving him. So why had he been so desperate to escape? And what had he been so desperate to escape from? So desperate that he’d been prepared to endure a loveless marriage.
He wanted her to believe he was shallow. An opportunist. But she knew from the other things he’d said about the web design business that had been his ticket out that he’d worked extremely hard to make it a success.
As a teenager, she’d conjured up lots of badboy fantasies about how all he really needed was someone to love him and support him. Someone like her. All of which had been ridiculous, and had had much more to do with her need to be needed than anything else.
But maybe there was a grain of truth in some of it. Because she could see now that surly disaffected boy hadn’t disappeared completely.
He walked back through the tables, carrying a tray laden with her latte and his espresso. With his shoulders slightly hunched and his dark hair falling carelessly across his brow, she suddenly had a vivid picture of him at seventeen, the day he’d come into school with a vicious cut across his brow and a black eye. Everyone had assumed he’d been in a fight.
The rush of tenderness made her stomach lighten and an idea formed in her mind. A wonderful idea that she should have thought of sooner.
‘You didn’t finish your sandwich,’ he said as he placed the coffees on th
e table.
‘I know.’ She grasped her handbag, slung it over her shoulder, then took a quick burning sip of the latte. ‘I hate to eat and run, but I have to dash. I should take this haul back to my flat and wrap them. My best friend Nessa’s doing Christmas lunch tomorrow and everyone will be there.’
He sipped his espresso. ‘All right, I’ll see you at the hotel later.’ It wasn’t a question, but she could see the flicker of uncertainty in his eyes and the tenderness wrapped around her heart, warming her more than the latte.
‘You want a hand getting all that loot into a cab?’ he asked as she gathered up the array of different bags, struggling to hold them all.
‘I’ve got them. I’m an expert at this, remember.’ Leaning over him, she gave him a quick kiss.
His hand settled on her waist, and he tugged her closer, turning the kiss from quick to burning in a heartbeat. ‘Don’t be too long,’ he said when he let her go.
As she dashed off past the displays of Japanese noodles and exclusive French wine she could feel him watching her, and a wide grin spread across her face.
Jace Ryan was going to celebrate Christmas this year. Whether he had planned to or not. Because it was way past time he discovered how much he had been missing.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
‘MERRY Christmas, Mr Ryan,’ Cassie murmured as she settled onto Jace’s lap.
His arms came around her waist and he gave her a hard hug. ‘Same goes, Ms Fitzgerald.’ He nuzzled her neck, and she felt her pulse leap. They’d just had a leisurely bath together and demolished a huge cooked breakfast. ‘What time do you have to be at your friend’s house?’ he asked.
She drew back. ‘Not for a while.’
‘Great!’ He shifted, stood up with her in his arms, but as he headed to the bedroom she wriggled down.
‘Not so fast,’ she said breathlessly, anticipation making her heart flutter in her chest. ‘I have a surprise for you. In honour of the season.’ She’d promised herself she wasn’t going to make a big deal of it. But she was still looking forward to seeing his reaction.
‘Oh, yeah.’ He sent her a suggestive grin and grabbed the tie on her robe. ‘That’s what I was hoping.’
She slapped his hand away playfully. ‘Not that sort of surprise. You really do have a one-track mind.’
‘Hey, from the way you jumped me in the whirlpool tub this morning, I’m certainly not the only one.’
She giggled at the mock irritation in his tone as she crossed to the huge spruce tree in the corner of the suite, and the stack of presents for her friends that she’d placed beneath it yesterday evening ready for her trip to Nessa’s.
Taking the brightly wrapped parcel and card perched on the top, she carried it back to him. ‘Merry Christmas, Jace,’ she said, presenting the gift.
Instead of taking it, he pushed his hands into the pockets of his robe, a puzzled frown creasing his brow. ‘What’s this?’ he asked.
‘It’s a Christmas present,’ she said brightly, holding it up. But his hands stayed buried in his pockets, the confused frown becoming more acute as he stared at the present, as if it were an unexploded bomb.
‘But I told you, I don’t bother with Christmas presents,’ he said, his eyes lifting to hers.
She lowered the present, the flutter in her chest turning to a deep pounding beat as she registered the expression on his face. She’d expected him to be surprised. But she’d persuaded herself that the decision to buy the present was simply to thank him for giving her back that part of herself she’d lost. She had to admit now, though, that the decision had also been a little bit of a ploy to jolt him out of his cynicism about Christmas. What she hadn’t expected, however, was the dazed shock in his eyes. Seemed she’d given him a bit more than a jolt.
‘I didn’t get you anything,’ he said, his voice hoarse, his stance stiff.
‘I know,’ she said, emotion gripping her chest at the thought that he would be worried about that. ‘I didn’t expect you to.’ Taking his arm, she lifted his hand out of his pocket, placed the gift in his open palm. ‘It’s just a token, Jace. To say thank you for everything you’ve given me over the last week.’
‘What have I given you?’ he said, the dry note of suspicion strangely defensive.
‘Lots of really amazing sex,’ she said lightly, but as she saw his stance relax a little she realised he’d given her so much more than that.
Being with him had been exciting and exhilarating; it had liberated her from the mistakes of her past relationships. Instead of worrying about the future, and where things were leading, with him she’d been able to stay in the moment, to enjoy their relationship for what it was with none of the weight of responsibility. And she’d had fun. More fun than she’d ever had before. Christmas had been something she’d been dreading this year, because she was going to be alone on Christmas morning, which would have reminded her a bit too forcefully of her first Christmas without her mother.
The rush of tenderness from the day before intensified. She knew she couldn’t tell him any of that. Because it would alter their fling in a way neither of them wanted. But giving him the present seemed like the perfect way to say it without words.
‘So thanks for that,’ she added saucily. ‘Plus you’ve been paying for all the room service, so I feel I owe you one,’ she said.
He gave a rough chuckle, turned the present over in his hands as if he didn’t quite know what to do with it. ‘I’m not sure if I should feel used or flattered that you’re giving me a gift for services rendered.’
‘I’d say probably a bit of both.’ She gave a light laugh, impossibly pleased that she’d got him to accept the gift. ‘Why don’t you open it?’ she prompted.
He looked up. ‘All right.’ He sat back down in his chair, then eased off the sticky tape with such care her heart began to hammer her ribcage. It was almost as if he’d never received a gift before. Which was ridiculous, but somehow she couldn’t shake the thought as he lifted the emerald-green designer sweater she’d bought the day before and held it up as if it were incredibly precious. The colour matched his eyes and the cashmere was soft enough that it wouldn’t irritate his skin if he chose to wear it without a T-shirt.
‘Cassie, this is expensive. Too expensive.’
‘Do you like it?’ she asked, although she didn’t need to, she could see the astonished wonder in his face, which she suspected had as much to do with getting the gift as it did with the gift itself.
‘You know I do. But I can’t—’
‘It wasn’t that expensive,’ she interrupted. ‘It certainly didn’t cost as much as four days’ worth of room-service meals at The Chesterton.’ She lifted the card off the table, handed it to him. ‘You forgot the card.’
Her pulse sped up as he took it, shaking his head. ‘You shouldn’t have gone to all this trouble.’
She smiled, glad that she had. Suddenly struck by the realisation that despite his success, and his money and his industrial strength sex appeal, Jace Ryan had never made any meaningful human connections in his life. Not with his so-called friends, not during his short-lived marriage and certainly not with his family … Or he wouldn’t have been so completely poleaxed by a simple Christmas gift. As a teenager, she’d always believed in her typically rose-tinted way that what he needed was true love, but maybe all he had really needed was a friend. A proper friend. And she could be that. At least for the short time they were together.
Jace drew the white card out of the envelope and stared at the picture on it while willing the tightening in his chest to go the hell away.
But it didn’t go away, it got worse as he studied the expertly drawn caricature of himself standing next to a Christmas tree with piles of shopping bags under it, his bare chest looking like something out of a body-builders magazine while the seductive smile on his face was tinged with wickedness. The words written underneath in an elaborate serif font read:
To Jace, Ex-Bad Boy, Candy Man extraordinaire and Champion Shopper in
training! Merry Christmas, Cassidy x
He huffed out a laugh past the constriction in his throat, so touched by the silly card he felt like an idiot. Who knew the Christmas spirit could be contagious?
He looked up to find her watching him, her face flushed with pleasure. Dropping the card on the table, he shifted round and grasped the tie on her robe. ‘Come here, clever clogs,’ he said, dragging her towards him until she straddled his lap. She rested her hands on his shoulders, the sweet, impossibly pleased smile on her face making his insides flip over—a strange feeling of lightness and excitement and anticipation swelling right alongside the lust.
‘I feel kind of bad,’ he said, stroking his thumb across her collarbone, and watching her pulse flutter against her neck, ‘that I don’t have anything for you in return.’
‘That’s okay, Jace.’ Her eyes went to half mast as his index finger traced the line of her throat then dipped down to explore the tempting display of cleavage revealed by the lapels of her robe. ‘Don’t you know, it’s much better to give than to receive?’ she purred, her voice husky with desire.
‘Is that so?’ He nudged aside her robe, heard the sharp intake of breath as he exposed the fullness of her breast and the swollen nipple to his gaze. ‘Then I guess it’s my turn to do the giving,’ he said before swirling his tongue across the puckered flesh and drawing it into his mouth.
She bucked in his lap, her fingers digging into his shoulders as he feasted on her. But as the blood pounded into his groin, the lump in his throat swelled and he had to push down the tidal wave of regret that he would never be able to give her more than this.
‘I shouldn’t be here,’ Jace grumbled as Cassie stabbed the doorbell on the wall panel for the red-brick block of flats situated next to the shutters of a closed shop. The metal frames of the market stalls stood behind them, making the empty Hoxton Street Market look eerily quiet in the cold afternoon air. ‘I wasn’t invited.’
